Page 69 of Yes No Maybe

Rose claps at Marcy’s idea, and I offer a weak, “Um, he’d like that.”

Jack weaves around slow cars in the left lane only to give them a wave of irritation as we pass and mumble curses under his breath.

“We must do a cinema theme,” Rose says, spurring more ideas from the group, and plans for a Dean party unfold.

Jack turns the radio up, drowning the conversation, and within moments, the entire van is rocking out to Taylor Swift. Sara and I share a bemused look at the unharmonious cooing. I curl into the seat, a headache nipping at my temple. I imagine a lifetime of this—me reporting on Dean because he isn’t around to tell them himself.

Rose’s words from the night I met her circle into my head.If you love something enough, you find a way to make it work.They mix with Dean’s.This is why we work… we’re independent people who want to be independent together.

Only it sounds hollow now, like a bargain basement consolation prize toravished, cherished, adored.

We arrive at the Carolina Beach boardwalk and set up base camp near the lifeguard stand. Jack and Tom erect a family-sized beach tent while we unfold our chairs. Jack acts as a porter, making multiple trips to the van for more gear and helping with set-up. Like a dutiful son, he doesn’t mind when Vernon hands him money for a donut run or when Marcy asks him to clean her glasses.

Vernon goes off to take photos in the morning light. Ed and Renita tour the boardwalk, hunting for mimosas. Rose and Marcy wade in the light waves. Tom and Jack get the surfboards strapped to the van’s roof and head out to catch waves. Sara settles with a sketchbook, angled away so I can’t see what she’s doing.

I pull outCape Moon—Jack’s first novel. I’m halfway through, and he’s spun a thick, sticky web around me, pulling me in and holding me tightly. It’s the story of Tyler and Rachel—childhood sweethearts who share a devastating secret that slowly tears them apart. Told from a shifting perspective between the past and present, he leaves the reader desperate to discover what the secret is and, even more, if their love can withstand it. It’s dark, sometimes funny, strange, and sexy, but best of all, the love story is addictive. Every time I look away, my eyes zip back to the page like it might disintegrate in my hands if I stop reading—and I can’t let that happen.

I vaguely notice Sara going for a swim and keep a distracted eye on her. I hear Rose and Vernon talking. At one point, Renita’s high-pitched laugh makes me think they scored their mimosas. But otherwise, I’m oblivious to everything but the world Jack’s created—one of aching, desperate love, eerie sadness, and suspense.

Thunder breaks the spell. The dark sky at sea is split by lightning hitting the water. Our group eyes the approaching storm, except for Jack—he’s watching me, stretched out, long and lean, on a towel near my chair.

“Better head for cover,” Tom announces calmly. “Just a summer storm. Won’t last long.”

“Sara, come!” Rose waves her hand. “Let’s go buy you a proper sunhat.”

She races with them toward the boardwalk.

Renita and Ed dash up the beach in a giddy but ungraceful run toward a bar. Tom and Marcy follow, hand-in-hand, as fat raindrops pummel our tent. When I turn back to the stormy ocean, Jack’s on his feet, his hand reaching for mine.

“Come on.” His words come softly but sound demanding, like he’s responsible for me.Protective.But I won’t quibble. Lightning streaks the ocean behind him, with thunder quickly crashing, and my heart races. I tuck the book in my beach bag, sling it on my shoulder, and take his hand.

The rain picks up, making it hard to see. But Jack pulls me along, never loosening his grip as we weave through the evacuating crowd.

Lightning electrifies the sky, separated only a second from ear-splitting thunder. Barefoot, we kick through sandy puddles and cross over the boardwalk toward the shops.

But we don’t stay with the crowd, ducking into stores and restaurants. Jack leads me behind the boardwalk steps and under the platform with an insistent tug. Over our heads, the long slits between boards provide cuts of gray light, but it’s mostly dim. It’s a makeshift cave, shaded and safe. The rain and sudden coolness bring on a full-bodied shiver, and my heart races with the excited effort to get here.

But meeting Jack’s eyes, I laugh, even as another explosion makes me jump. Stuck in his story, I feel giddy, even drunk on it, like a teenager crushing on a book for the first time.

“I was at the part in the woods with the moss and the wet leaves under their feet,” I explain breathlessly. “When the rain comes, Tyler takes her to their old lean-to. And they kiss for the first time.”

Saying nothing, Jack sorts through my beach bag at my feet and pulls out a towel.

“When I looked up and saw the storm, I thought I’d conjured it from my imagination… Or, I mean,yourimagination. Weird, huh?”

The beach towel circles my shoulders, dry and warm from the heat it captured on the beach—I didn’t realize I was shivering. Jack holds the ends together between us like he’s afraid I might not have the wherewithal to keep it on.

“And that kiss, Jack… ah, if only kisses could feel so magical. I don’t think a kiss can bethatgood.”

His intense stare falters slightly into curiosity.

I suddenly realize how alone we are. And close. Gripping my towel between us, his hand is fisted at the top of my chest. The other dangles loosely beside my right hand, a mere inch apart. It’d be easy to drag my fingertips across the tattooed world on his exposed chest—books and scenes spilling into each other like different chapters in the same eclectic story.

My eyes stop on the tattoo over his heart—aCalvin and Hobbesversion of him and his brother wearing baseball uniforms and toting gear toward the field. I think of his office picture and the lettersC + Detched into the closet door in Sara’s room, how sweet and sad it is. I long to touch him, hold him, offer some comfort in hindsight.

“Um, not a first kiss, anyway.” Inexplicably nervous, I focus on his face instead. “Those are always clumsy and awkward in real life. Don’t you think?”

Why isn’t he saying anything?Rain slaps against the wood planks over our heads, slipping through the tiny gaps. Thunder rumbles, and Jack stares at me like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. His free hand mingles with my left one, dangling at my side—tips to palm, and then his fingers roll over the outer side, where my marks cover half my hand.Why is Jack Graham touching me?

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